


Carry the Reminders

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Series: Proof [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26709841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: The day after the boys are found by Bruce, and Tim and Damian each question their place at Wayne Manor.This is the second part of a series, but if you can just accept that Tim, Damian, Dick, and Jason all lived together on the streets of Gotham before being found all at once by Bruce, you can read this one.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Proof [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944145
Comments: 38
Kudos: 559





	Carry the Reminders

**Author's Note:**

> I will get to Dick and Jason, for sure, but first are Tim and Dami! Thanks for all of the kind comments on the first part, "Proof," everyone! I really appreciate them. I hope you like this little sequel.

Tim woke to the wrong sounds, the wrong smells, and the wrong feel against his skin. It was quiet, save Damian’s soft breathing next to him. It smelled like soft flowers and old wood instead of wet cement and rotting garbage. Soft sheets brushed his skin, instead of the layers of dirty clothes and hard cement floors of the warehouse. All of it added up to wake Tim fully, even though the quiet of the house, the dark outside the window, and the exhaustion still making his body heavy told him that it was still nighttime.

It was just Tim and Damian in the bed, and Tim suddenly needed to lay his eyes on Dick and Jason. It was wrong that they weren’t sleeping next to him – wrong in the way that the sounds and smells were wrong.

He sat up. Damian slept on, and Tim pulled in a deep breath, savoring the clean smells of the room. They were wrong, but that didn’t mean this wasn’t an improvement over garbage. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and slid down to the floor. He reached back up, tucked the quilt back over Damian, and whispered, “I’ll be right back,” even though Damian was still asleep.

Tim crept down the hall to the room where Dick and Jason were staying, and he pushed the partially opened door further and ducked inside. Bruce Wayne was still sitting in the chair next to the bed and he raised his head and gave Tim a tired smile. Tim bit his bottom lip and waved.

Bruce beckoned Tim over and when he got close enough, whispered, “Did you want to check on them?” like he completely understood why Tim would be up at god-knows-what time in the middle of the night looking in on his big brothers in a perfectly safe house.

Tim nodded. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said softly, trying to pour an apology for disturbing the man into his voice.

“I promised Dick I’d keep an eye on everyone tonight.”

Tim couldn’t help the grin that stole across his face. Dick was looking after them here, in the safety of Wayne Manor. Tim walked over to the bed and he had to stand on his tippy toes to see Jason asleep with a faint flush of fever in his cheeks and Dick pressed to his side with his arm thrown across Jason’s chest. “Is Jason okay?” Tim whispered.

Bruce paused, and Tim would have to find out what that pause meant later, and replied, “Yes. Dr. Leslie said it was just a bad flu. We’ll keep a close eye on him, but he should get better soon.”

Tim peered over the edge of the bed again. It was a big bed. Dick and Jason were hardly taking up any room, it seemed, even with Dick’s long, gangly legs.

“Do you want to sleep in here?” Bruce asked, like he was reading Tim’s mind.

Tim glanced back to the door and sighed. “No,” he said, settling back to his feet and turning. “Damian won’t want to wake up alone.”

Bruce smiled gently and gestured with his head toward the hallway. “Would you like me to bring him in here, too?”

It was odd seeing Bruce Wayne smile while sitting in a chair in soft light from a small lamp. In Tim’s memory, Bruce wore tuxedos and always had a drink in his hand, and sometimes, if Tim stayed awake long enough at the galas, he would end up weaving drunkenly and laughing a bright, loud laugh. Tim’s mother would usually escort Tim away and out to their car at that point of the night, but Tim hardly recognized this Bruce Wayne in his soft, blue flannel pajamas as the same man.

“Are you sure that’s okay?” Tim whispered. “To bring Dami in here?” Tim didn’t want to annoy Batman with childish requests, but he really didn’t want to leave this room.

“I’ll be right back. Why don’t you go ahead and climb up?”

After Bruce left the room, Tim used the chair to clamber onto the bed, and he scooted under the covers on the other side of Dick and waited. It seemed like a second later and Bruce was laying Damian down next to Tim.

Dami was half awake, and Tim shifted around so that he could be between Tim and Dick. Tim could still drape his arm across and onto Dick’s shoulder, so it was fine.

Damian muttered, “We should have just started in here with them,” and almost immediately his breathing evened out again.

Tim thought he felt Bruce reach down and brush Tim’s hair from his face, and he definitely heard him murmur, “You’re safe here, boys. You’re safe,” before Tim drifted off to sleep.

When he woke again, Jason was retching into a plastic bowl that Bruce was holding under his chin. Dick was brushing sweaty hair from Jason’s face and Damian had his knees pulled up and was worrying his lower lip. When Jason leaned back and Bruce changed the bowl for a washcloth, Tim was overcome by something he thought he’d been rid of forever.

It was a hollowness in the center of his chest, a kind of vibrating threat of pain that came with the fleeting impression of needing to go home, that somehow, even though he was home, or now with people he saw as his family in Dick, Damian, and Jason, he wasn’t home. He wasn’t where his hollow chest could be filled. It was a sudden and sharp emptiness.

He slipped off the bed and onto the floor, but everyone’s attention was on Jason, so he swallowed thickly and moved across the room and slid out the door into the vast hallway. He peered around the door back into the room, but Jason was retching again and that was that. Damian had his father. Dick and Jason were inseparable, and Tim backed out of the room again and walked down the hallway.

At the far end of the hall and through a room that seemed to be a den, he found another hallway, and at the end of that one, he found a room with a door that was hard to open. He had to shove, and when he did, he found a much smaller bedroom than the ones he’d seen so far. It was comfortable, but not large, and the bed was just a twin bed like the one Tim had at his house. It didn’t have much, but it did have a window, and there was a deep red wing back chair underneath it. Tim climbed up into it and put his elbows on the window ledge. The view was the back of the Manor grounds, and Tim saw a swimming pool and a pitch behind it, smooth grass and empty space that backed into a line of trees.

The Drake house was behind those trees.

Tim had parents. He had a mother and a father, and they hadn’t died or been thrown in jail, nor had they willingly abandoned him on the streets of Gotham City. They had simply left town a lot, expected Tim to get himself to school and fix his own meals while they were gone and yelled and slammed doors and broke his toys when they were home and angry. They had merely expected him to behave like a good son at parties, sit quietly at symphonies and plays, and accept what was given to him with grace and good manners.

They had given him any toys or games or cameras or books that he asked for, and when he was eight, they gave him a credit card and showed him how to order his own groceries and school supplies. For his ninth birthday they had given him a new suit and a gift card to Game Stop, even though he’d long been using the credit card they gave him to buy himself games and they’d never commented. They’d skipped him two grades ahead without asking and they hadn’t noticed the first week when he came home with a bruise on his cheek from a couple of bullies who thought it was funny that an nine-year-old was in middle school.

They just didn’t care. They'd never sat with him when he was sick and held a basin under his chin, he was sure of it. He turned from the window and pulled his feet up so he could rest his chin on his knees and lean against the side of the chair. Four boys were a lot for Bruce Wayne to handle, even with the help of Alfred, Tim was certain. Tim was the one who had a home. Maybe he should just go back to it. If the other boys stayed at Wayne Manor, Tim could see them when he wanted to. Having them next door would make the emptiness of his house more bearable, maybe. He closed his eyes and imagined living at home and coming here to visit, knocking on that big front door, swimming in the swimming pool out back while the other boys splashed and laughed around him, maybe having a sleepover once in a while.

A heavy hand shook Tim’s shoulder and a soft, low voice said, “Hey Tim, can you wake up for me, buddy?”

Tim startled and sat up straight, and when he opened his eyes, Bruce Wayne was crouched down in front of the chair with tousled hair, a cup in each hand, and a soft smile on his face. “Oh,” Tim said, his voice thick with sleep, “I fell asleep.”

“Yeah. It took me a bit to find you, kiddo. This room isn’t one we use very often anymore.”

“It has a nice view,” Tim said, drawing his knees up again.

Bruce craned his neck to check out the view and then sank back onto his heels. “It does. If those trees weren’t there you could see your house.”

Tim could only nod.

Bruce’s smile faded a bit, but then he held out a cup. “Dick said you like coffee. Alfred wouldn’t let me give you a whole cup, so he mixed a little coffee in with some hot chocolate. Would you like to have it?”

Tim glanced at the cups and back to Bruce. “Thank you very much,” he said as Bruce handed him the cup and then moved to sit on the bed across from Tim.

“Are you feeling okay, Tim?” Bruce asked and then sipped from his cup.

“Yes, sir.”

It was automatic, the response, and Bruce frowned a little bit at it. “Dick and Damian said that you boys have had a rough time of it lately. It’s okay if you’re not feeling up to par. It’s expected. I just didn’t get to talk to you much last night and then you disappeared this morning, and, well, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Tim didn’t know how to answer that. Was he okay?

“I’m still pretty tired,” he replied, and took a drink of hot chocolate. He blinked down at the cup after he took the drink because wow, that was the best hot chocolate Tim had ever had.

“Do you think you’re up to talking about why you ran away from home?” Bruce asked, and Tim involuntarily sucked in a sharp breath. “You don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to, Tim. I trust that the situation was bad, and you had good reasons for leaving.”

Tim met his gaze and there was kindness and sadness there. It was a combination he’d never seen in a grownup’s eyes.

Bruce went on. “Your legal situation may end up being the trickiest, though. I think you need to speak to a social worker who has the legal authority to make recommendations. I have a couple of people in mind, people I trust on the advice of my lawyers.”

Tim sank a little lower in the chair and took another drink of hot chocolate. He imagined his mother’s face when a social worker or lawyer showed up at their house. “Maybe I should just go home,” he said quietly. “That sounds like a lot of trouble,” and the thought of what life would be like if he ended up having to go home legally, after his parents had accusations leveled at them, sounded like a nightmare.

Bruce shifted on the bed and sat quietly for a moment. “I don’t think your brothers think you should go home. I think they’d be pretty upset with me if I let you do that.”

“They’re not my brothers,” Tim said.

Bruce was quiet again.

“They’re not,” Tim said. “We played at it for a while and it was nice, but I have parents and they’re going to be very angry with me, and that’s without trying to get social workers involved. I should just go home.”

Bruce frowned. “Tim,” he started.

“No,” Tim said, and he stood up and walked to the bedroom door. “I made a mistake and I need to go home.” He needed to get this over. Bruce was going to make accusations at Jack and Janet Drake and Tim was going to get caught in the middle.

“I have financial and school records to prove your case without even getting you involved, Tim. I have doctor’s records, and lack of records, that will help prove your case. I have the fact that they didn’t even have you officially declared missing. You don’t have to go back there if you’re willing to tell the social workers whatever you told Dick and Jason.”

Tim stopped, his hand on the door handle, and he gripped it tight. “They’ll be so angry,” he whispered. “I can’t.”

Bruce crossed the room and gently pried Tim’s fingers off the handle of the door. Tim stared at the floor as Bruce knelt down in front of him and brushed his hand down Tim’s cheek.

“Tim,” he said. “Look at me, please.”

Tim couldn’t. He wasn’t even brave enough for that.

“Tim. Those boys are your brothers and they love you. You’ve been living on the streets of Gotham for a year. It doesn’t matter where you came from, what house address you ran from, how prestigious the last name on your birth certificate. Behind those trees? That is not your home. I do not trust sending you back to your parents. I can’t do it. If you’ll at least tell the social workers you don’t want to go home, I’ll handle the rest and you won’t have to face your parents’ anger alone. I’ll stand with you, and Dick and Jason and Damian will stand with you, too.”

Tim swallowed and clenched his eyes shut. “What if you’re wrong?” he whispered. “What if I have to go back there? I’ll be alone again, and they’ll hate me even worse than they already do. You could be wrong, you know. My parents are very smart, and they have lawyers, too.” He raised his head and opened his eyes.

Bruce reached up and brushed Tim’s black hair off his forehead. “I have enough evidence. I will make sure our case is airtight before we do anything, and I’ll get my whole legal team to double and triple check everything. Trust me, Tim. Please don’t go back to that house today. You do have brothers now, and I’d like to work to give you a home, too. One that you’re not afraid of.”

He’d like that. A home he wasn’t afraid of. A home that wasn’t too large and too empty and too angry. He’d like that. He nodded.

Bruce grinned and stood up. “Okay. Well, first order of business is for me to prove to Dick and Damian that you weren’t eaten by the Manor. They might have panicked when we didn’t find you nearby this morning. Then we’ll get some breakfast and start planning.”

Tim followed Bruce down the hallway, and they ended up back in the kitchen, where Dick and Damian sat eating omelets. Dick sprang to his feet when he spotted Tim, and before Tim could say anything at all, he was wrapped in a hug.

“No disappearing, Timmy,” Dick said, and he squeezed. “Okay? Not even here. No disappearing.”

Tim gripped Dick’s waist and nodded into his big brother’s chest. “Okay. Okay, I won’t do it again, Dick.”

“Come try these eggs, Tim,” Damian called. “Pennyworth makes excellent breakfast.”

Tim pulled away as Dick laughed and agreed, and as Bruce slipped out of the kitchen, he gave Tim a smile and a thumbs up. His confidence was infectious and Tim grinned at his plate as he dug in.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

His father was sitting next to his bed when he woke. His father was helping Jason as he threw up again. His father was running his large, calloused hand through Damian’s hair when he thought Damian was still asleep. His father was frowning when he realized Tim had disappeared and smiling a little when Dick and Damian leapt out of the bed to go search for him. His father put a hand on Dick’s shoulder and nodded toward Jason, still asleep with flushed cheeks, and said, “I’ll find Tim. You two stay here and keep an eye on Jason until Alfred calls you for breakfast.” His father swept out of the room with a determined look on his face and a brush of his hand across Damian’s shoulder.

Damian’s _father_ was here.

When his mother told him, years ago, that his father was a fighter, that Damian needed to measure up, to learn to fight and learn to kill, Damian did not envision a man in soft flannel pajamas sitting in a tall, blue cushioned chair and speaking so kindly. He had, honestly, expected someone like his grandfather, R’as: tall and cold and angry most of the time.

“Damian, why don’t you go see if you can help Alfred with breakfast?” Dick said, after Bruce left the room. “I’ll stay here in case Jay wakes up.

Damian started to leave, but Dick pulled on his wrist for a moment, and was smiling softly at him. “Come here a sec,” he said, and Damian moved to his side. He pulled Damian into a warm hug and oh, Damian had come to love those these past few months. Hugs were new to him, and they were one of the best things about Dick Grayson. He held tight and Dick whispered into his hair, “I’m so glad you found your dad.”

Damian held on until Dick pushed him away and hoped he could find the kitchen again. He managed to find it with only one wrong turn, and the older British man from the night before was pulling ingredients for eggs out onto the counter.

“Ah, young Master Damian. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Pennyworth,” Damian replied. “Dick said I should help you with breakfast. Is that all right?”

Alfred smiled warmly down at him and said, “Do you know how to chop a pepper?”

Damian bit his lip and frowned. “I don’t know how to cook,” he said. Cooking? Would this knowledge be expected of him?

“This is a good time to start learning, then,” Alfred answered, and he pulled a chair from the small dining area over in front of the counter. “Climb up here and I will show you how to do this.”

Damian hesitated. This was servants’ work when he lived with his mother. She would not be happy with Pennyworth insisting on Damian help prepare his own breakfast, but life with Dick and Jason and Tim definitely taught him that his upbringing was unusual and not necessarily correct in all ways. Father trusted Pennyworth, clearly. Damian should, too. He climbed up on the chair and Alfred showed him how to hold the knife and use the cutting board, and soon Damian was chopping up red and green peppers while Alfred hummed quietly nearby and shredded cheese from a large block.

After the peppers, Damian chopped an avocado and a chunk of ham, all into separate bowls. Alfred cracked a dozen eggs and showed Damian how to use the whisk and ‘scramble’ them. Then he asked what Damian would like in his eggs.

Damian blinked. “I get to choose?” he asked. Breakfast at home was given to him and he was expected to eat it in order to stay healthy. While he’d chosen some food on the streets with his brothers, even then it had been limited to what they could afford that day. He assumed when he got to his father’s house, breakfast would be determined by the adults.

“Of course, young sir. There are some things I will not tolerate serving for breakfast, but you may certainly choose from whatever is available. If you don’t want eggs, I have yoghurt or oatmeal or fruit and granola.”

Damian blinked and his stomach rumbled, even though they’d eaten the night before. He swallowed. “Eggs are fine, thank you.”

Alfred nodded and gestured to the bowls. “Choose what you’d like, and we’ll make an omelet. Why don’t you put everything you want into this small bowl while I go ask Master Dick what he’d like to eat.”

“Will you fix eggs for Jason?” Damian asked.

“Ah. No. I don’t think his stomach will be quite up to that, although if he is awake, I shall see about fixing him some toast. I know you boys need to eat.”

Damian nodded and turned back to the bowls of fresh vegetables and cheese. Into his own empty bowl he put in peppers, onions, avocado, cheese, and spinach. Alfred returned and filled a bowl with ham, onions, peppers, and cheese. He showed Damian how to sauté the vegetables and then pour the eggs over top of them, add the cheese and stir until they were cooked. When they were finished, he poured Damian a glass of apple juice and buttered a piece of whole wheat toast for each plate.

Damian waited at the table while Alfred went to get Dick and he had to sit on his hands so that he didn’t start eating before Dick sat down next to him and leaned against his shoulder. He had bags under his eyes still, but he was smiling.

“Looks good, Dami. Alfred said you helped fix it, thanks.”

They ate quietly and it was the best breakfast Damian had ever had. “Do you think Tim is all right?” he asked.

Dick swallowed a bite and took a drink of his juice. “I think,” he said slowly, “That he’s scared. His house is close by and his parents sound awful.”

“What if my father thinks it’s best that he goes home?”

“Then we’ll fight for Tim. I’m not letting him go back there, Damian, even if it means fighting Bruce.”

The idea of fighting his father, now, after they just found him, turned the juice in his mouth sour. He swallowed and stared at his plate.

“Damian, I don’t think Bruce is just going to send him back. He said he wouldn’t, and he seems like he means it.”

A man of his word, yes. Damian had to assume he was a man of his word. He didn’t want to fight his father over Tim, but he wouldn’t let him go, either.

As Damian and Dick finished their breakfast, Bruce finally led Tim into the kitchen where Dick promptly attacked him with a hug and Damian called him to the table. Damian’s father, though, didn’t stay. He excused himself with an apology and said that he had some legal affairs to tend to. He encouraged them to explore the Manor and added that the only rule was they should not pick locks or leave the grounds.

Damian was exhausted, as the other boys seemed to also be, so after breakfast, he spent an hour wandering the halls looking at old paintings of people he didn’t know but who occasionally looked a bit like him, but soon he found himself in the kitchen again with Pennyworth and Tim, sitting at the table. Dick was sitting with Jason again.

“Do you like puzzles?” Pennyworth asked as he put some fruit into a blender and added several spoonfuls of yoghurt.

“Yes,” Tim said, but Damian stayed quiet. He wasn’t sure what they meant. A puzzle was something one couldn’t figure out, that was all. It wasn't something to 'like.' 

“I have a few in the hall closet outside the kitchen if you’d like to work on one.”

Tim hopped up and went out to the hall. “Dami, do you want to help me pick?” he called.

For some reason he was suddenly very far from home. He shook his head no and picked at the napkin that was left on the table from breakfast. Tim brought a box back and set it on the table. There was a picture of three kittens on the box and a smile stole across Damian’s face.

“I know you like dogs a bit better,” Tim said, “But there was only this kitten one. They’re cute, too, right?”

Damian nodded as Tim opened the box and dumped a whole pile of broken pieces of cardboard on the table. Damian sat on his hands again, this time because he didn’t know what to do. Tim started performing some kind of sorting technique, pulling pieces into piles. Damian watched carefully.

Pennyworth set a clear glass full of a pale pink liquid in front of both Tim and Damian, one for each of them. “I do hope you like bananas and strawberry smoothies. I have added some protein powder to it, so it may taste different than a smoothie you’ve had before.”

Damian had never had a smoothie. He’d seen ads for them, but he’d never had one. Tim stuck a straw in both of them and Damian took a sip. Flavor burst onto his tongue and he stared at the drink. He took another drink, then another. He couldn’t help gulping; it was so good.

“Dami, slow down!” Tim laughed.

Damian pulled back from the drink and grinned. “This is the best drink.”

Alfred smiled and brought a pitcher over and filled Damian’s glass back to the top. “I shall remember how much you like them, then.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Tim said, and then he elbowed Damian.

“Yes, thank you,” Damian followed.

“My pleasure, young sirs. I will be back momentarily, after I give Master Richard a glass as well.”

After Alfred left, Tim kept fiddling with the pieces of cardboard. “What are you doing?” Damian asked.

Tim glanced up and then bent back over the table. “Haven’t you ever worked a puzzle before?” he asked.

Damian frowned. “No,” he said. “I don’t know what it is.”

Tim raised his head and a sad look crossed his face before he schooled himself and said, “Oh. Well.” He leaned back and pointed to the box with the kittens on the cover. “That picture, uh. They’ve basically printed that picture on cardboard and then cut it up into pieces. We have to put it back together. I’m sorting pieces into ones that are obviously the edge of the picture. You could sort by colors, too, if you wanted. Then we try and figure out how to put it back together.”

“You’ve never done a puzzle, Damian?” Father was standing in the doorway with a cup in his hand and a frown on his face.

Damian looked up and shook his head. “No,” and his chest clenched a little. Disappointing his father was the last thing he should do right now.

“That’s okay, Dami,” Tim said quickly. “I’ll show you how.”

Damian held his breath as his father came into the kitchen, though. He filled his cup with coffee and stood next to Damian for a moment before he ruffled Damian’s hair and walked away. Over his shoulder he said, “I have to look into a few more things. I’ll see you boys later.”

Damian stared at the empty doorway long enough that Tim startled him when he tapped his shoulder and said, “Damian, are you okay?”

When Damian didn’t answer because his father had just left again, Tim said, “Hey, he’ll be back to hang out with you, you know. He’s just trying to take care of the legal things. That includes you.”

Damian blinked. “Why? I’m his son.”

“Well, technically your mom probably still has custody of you, so if she shows up tomorrow and tries to take you home with her, she can, unless Bruce does some legal stuff. He told me he has a team of lawyers to try and help both of us.”

“Why would my mother come back for me. Surely, she told father I would come eventually. He must have been waiting for me.”

“Damian, I don’t think Bruce knew you existed. He seemed pretty surprised to find out that you were his son.”

“Yes, because he didn’t expect to find me like that. She must not have told him about the test, but I’m sure he knew he had a son and was waiting for me.”

“The test? Damian, she abandoned you. She threw you to the streets. Our parents didn’t care about us and yours flew you to a new country and dumped you here to die.”

“No! She was testing me. She wanted me to find my father, so my father must have known he had a son. My mother calls him ‘Beloved’ sometimes. If she loved him, he must have known.” Damian’s breath grew shorter, and anger trickled down his spine. He stood up from the table. “He was surprised that it was me, but he knew I would come eventually. He knew I would join him,” Damian growled. “She didn’t abandon me. I passed a test.” He left the kitchen and started running. His father was still in the mansion, surely, and Damian would find him.

Tim called after him, but Damian ignored him. His father had to have known about his son. Damian opened doors and shut them and opened them and shut them until finally he threw open a door and his father snapped his head up, startled at the sound of the door slamming against the wall. Damian’s breath was coming in gasps now.

“Damian!” his father said, and he stood from his desk and took three long strides to crouch down in front of him. “What on earth is the matter? Are you all right?”

Now that he was facing his father, his fear at Tim’s words made his lower lip quiver and his shoulders shake. Tears welled up in his eyes. He wiped at them and swallowed. “You knew you had a son,” he declared, and he hated the way his voice shook like a little child’s. “You knew you and mother sired me. You were just waiting for me to be brought to you somehow, right? You didn’t know who I was, but you knew I existed.”

His father blinked and sat back on his heels. He ran his hand through his already tousled hair and tilted his head like he was trying to get a better view of Damian. “What?”

“Mother didn’t just – You knew you had a son, didn’t you?”

Father pressed his lips together and took a deep breath through his nose, like he was preparing for something bad. “Damian, Talia, she, well. . . I didn’t really . . . no. I’m sorry. I didn’t know I had a son. She never told me. I wasn’t – “

Damian stopped breathing. His father didn’t want him. His father, who looked at him with apologetic eyes, didn’t know. “I thought she was testing me. That you knew a son existed but she didn’t want to make finding you easy for me. I thought,” he said, and his voice dropped to a whisper, “I thought you wanted me.” He turned on his heel and ran.

He followed the hallway to the huge, gaping foyer he remembered from last night and he pushed through the door onto the steps leading away from the mansion. His father was calling his name, but he didn’t listen. He flew down the steps and ran as hard as he could down the driveway. It was several minutes later when he had to slow at the sight of the towering gate that he realized it was snowing, hard. He sucked frigid air into his lungs and craned his head to stare at the top of the gate. It was not built for climbing at all. His shoulders heaved and the air coated his throat like a sheet of ice on top of the water, like he had seen in the puddles of Gotham streets.

“Damian!” his father yelled. “Please stop!”

Damian couldn’t climb this gate. He turned as his father skidded to a halt in front of him, and something about a man that size barreling toward Damian made him flinch away, back against the gate.

His father held his hands up and took a step back. “Don’t run from me, please,” he said.

Damian was still breathing hard and fast.

“I do want you, Damian.” His father knelt down so that they were eye to eye. “I _don’t_ want you to go.”

“Why would you want me when you did not even know of my existence until last night? You didn’t want a son before.” His words were sharp, like icicles.

“I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay with me and let me be your father. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know then. I know now.”

“How can you feel that? You just met me.”

“I just met Tim and I know I want him to stay. I just met Dick and I know I want him to stay. I’ve hardly met Jason and I know I want him to stay. I want you to stay, too.”

“Why?” Damian closed his eyes briefly as the childish question slipped out.

His father moved closer and shrugged his sweater off as he did, and he wrapped it around Damian’s bony shoulders and held tight. His hands were warm through the fabric. He swallowed thickly and smiled, his blue eyes twinkling through the falling white snow. “You’re my son,” he said as if that were enough, and then he sucked in a shaky breath. “You’re my son,” he repeated. “I look at you and I see my father’s chin and my mother’s cheekbones and your mother’s eyes and all of that, every part of you, makes you beautiful and mine. I want to show you what it means to be a Wayne, Damian, and what it’s like to have a family. To be my family. Please don’t run.”

Damian clenched his teeth together and ground out, “I disappointed my mother. I don’t think this was a test. I think she just wanted to be rid of me.”

His father nodded and his voice sounded like a low growl for a moment. “I won’t ever test you, Damian. You don’t ever have to pass a test to have me. Your mother tested me, too, and I didn’t want any part of her world because of it. I don’t want you in that world. I want you in mine.”

Damian looked up and tears fell from his eyes. He wiped his cheek. “I want to stay in your world,” he whispered, and he leaned forward.

His father caught him and held him close for a moment before he picked him up and pressed his hand to the back of Damian’s head. “Then let’s go back inside and get warm, son. Let’s go back in and stay.”

Damian put his cheek on his father's shoulder and breathed into his warm neck as he was carried back to his new home.


End file.
